


The Disappearance of Kunimi Akira

by mattressesflollop



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Detective Iwaizumi, M/M, but when he does he steals the spotlight just like in canon, detective watari, kyoutani takes a while to appear, mechanic kyoutani
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattressesflollop/pseuds/mattressesflollop
Summary: Iwaizumi was in the middle of a missing person's investigation, when his car broke down and he met Kyoutani.AU of Iwaizumi and Kyoutani butting heads, with an investigation and an auto repair shop as their backdrop.





	The Disappearance of Kunimi Akira

“Excuse me, sir?”

Iwaizumi looked up from his desktop, to see who was addressing him. And continued to look up, and up, because the stringbean towering over him on the other side of his desk, wringing his hands slightly, was one of the tallest men he’d seen in his life. Maybe even taller than Tendou, even after his old training partner’s growth spurt in their first year at the police academy.

“Yes?” he asked. “How can I help?”

“I’m looking for a detective,” the tall man said. “And the guard at the front desk said to come talk with you. I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Iwaizumi shook his head once. “It’s fine. Take a seat.” He gestured for the man to walk around Watari’s desk, to where Iwaizumi had a chair next to the side of his own desk. His neck was already starting to twinge from tipping his head up to keep eye contact. “What can I help you with?”

The man folded himself into Iwaizumi’s chair, and his right knee almost immediately gave a small jerk in agitation.

“It **—**  it’s my friend.” The words tumbled from him, agitated. “He’s gone missing. He doesn’t always answer his texts; that’s normal, like a few days can go by **—** but I stopped by his apartment yesterday to drop off some food, and no one answered the door. And **—** ”

“Woah.” Iwaizumi held up a hand, his other pulling open his notebook of case details. He was beginning to understand why Yamaguchi had sent this guy to him; Mizoguchi had less workload than Iwaizumi did right now, but zero patience to handle someone like this. And Kiyoko had her own caseload with a smuggling ring to investigate, which left Iwaizumi and Watari with most of the new cases that entered the station.

“All right, I understand your concern. Let’s go over things more systematically, though, okay? It’ll help me make sure we’re not missing any details.”

“Oh **—** sorry **—** ”

“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi replied, getting his pen ready. “Now. Your name?”

“Um. It’s Kindaichi. Kindaichi Yuutarou. Uh.” A flush spread across the man’s cheeks when he realized his social gaffe, and hastily blurted, dipping his head in a bow, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Iwaizumi, who didn’t care about social niceties, especially when they were a hassle, felt the corner of his mouth pull into a grin. “Yeah, nice to meet you too, Kindaichi-san. Now, what’s your friend’s name, and when was the last time that you saw him or heard from him, where you’re sure it was him?”

Kindaichi blinked at Iwaizumi’s last statement, and he wondered if that would worry the poor guy more.

“My friend’s name is Kunimi Akira. The last time I saw him was when we had a movie night last Friday.”

Iwaizumi jotted that down. “And the last time you heard from him?”

Kindaichi counted silently back in his mind. “Three days ago, during one of the breaks he takes before lunch.”

That, Iwaizumi thought wistfully, sounded nice.

“Does his family know that you haven’t seen him since?”

Kindaichi nodded. “I talked to them yesterday, because he was supposed to show up to visit his fiancée, and they were all going to meet for lunch and discuss wedding planning. When they told me that he hadn’t arrived... I told them that I’d come to the police here today.”

“Well, they’re welcome to come to the station too.” Iwaizumi phrased that as if Kunimi’s parents had a choice in the matter, whereas he knew he’d be calling them immediately once he was done with Kindaichi. There was still a chance that they were all overreacting, but Iwaizumi believed that you missed things, if you took them too lightly. “I’ll need to speak with them about the same things we’re going over now.”

“Oh.” Kindaichi frowned and looked apologetically at Iwaizumi. “They live in Miyagi, so I don’t know if they’ll make the trip or not...”

Miyagi, huh. Iwaizumi blinked at the mention of his home prefecture. He helped up a hand for Kindaichi to stop for a moment, as he continued to jot down the notes. “Do you have their contact information? I’d like to start with their basic info, if you have the time, Kindaichi-san.”

Kindaichi nodded, fists clenched on his thighs. “I do! Okay, sir.”

His tone and manner was still too wound up for Iwaizumi’s liking; Kindaichi’s reaction was more than understandable, but nerves like these meant tunnel vision, and a dangerous chance that Kindaichi wouldn’t be able to recount something important to what Iwaizumi needed to do his job quickly. So Iwaizumi set down his pen, and said, slowly, “one thing though.”

He leveled an even and serious look at Kindaichi, and intoned, “it’s ‘detective,’ not sir.”

“Oh **—** god **—** I’m sorry!” Kindaichi yelped, flustered, and Iwaizumi broke into a grin.

“I’m just messing with you, Kindaichi-san. ‘Iwaizumi’s fine.”

\--------------

After ten years of working together, Iwaizumi knew that Watari could be expected to read his mood as soon as his partner clocked in for the day. Although having just turned 28, Watari still had the face of a young recruit’s: a babyface, as Oikawa liked to marvel over, whenever they got on the subject of how the recirculated air in his labs were drying out his skin. It made Watari look deceptively innocent, given how sharp and observant he was.

When they’d first been partnered together, after Watari’s transfer from a station in Miyagi, Iwaizumi had been glad to have someone who had come from his hometown as well. They would have even trained together at the police academy, if Iwaizumi hadn’t gone after a fast track in Tokyo as soon as he’d graduated high school.

“Good mornin’. Missing person? Yamaguchi told me that we had a new case,” Watari greeted, as he took a seat at his desk across from Iwaizumi’s.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi affirmed. He grabbed the top of his monitor, and dragged the whole thing to turn it towards Watari. A photo of Kunimi, which Kindaichi had sent to Iwaizumi, was in the upper-right-hand corner of the report that he had been filling out.

The familiarity with each other cut both ways; Iwaizumi could tell, from just the small rise in Watari’s right eyebrow and the way his jaw dropped for a moment before he tensed, that his partner was surprised at the gender and age of their missing person. Homicides, sure, they wouldn’t have been too surprised with, but the typical male missing persons were either teenagers or young children — not young professionals like Kunimi.

“How long has he been —” Watari’s eyes tracked over the fields that Iwaizumi had already filled out, mouth flattening and hand tightening on his desk when he saw the information. From what Kindaichi had shared, the window of time for their investigation was unfortunately wide — Kunimi could have been missing as short as 24 hours from when he’d been expected to board the train back home, or as long as the three days since Kindaichi had last seen him.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi tapped his pen against his notes, and began to fill Watari in on the rest of what Kindaichi had shared with him. Kunimi worked — was working — in the traffic engineering department at Tokyo University of Science, as one of their staff researchers. When Kindaichi had described what Kunimi told him was his daily job, Iwaizumi had almost felt his mind glazing over. He had no clue how Kunimi could stay awake, watching and analyzing traffic cams each day.

Outside of his work, the most prominent development in Kunimi’s life was his engagement to the daughter of a friend of his family’s. The marriage had been arranged by their families, although Kindaichi had been emphatic that Kunimi liked his fiancée, Sonohara Aiko, and the times that they had met beforehand, he had all enjoyed. Even if Kunimi hadn’t outwardly been brimming with excitement, Kindaichi had told Iwaizumi that his friend was a quiet person — and that Iwaizumi shouldn't listen to the people who complained about how Kunimi didn't smile at all, because he did, and a lot more often than they bothered to remember.

Iwaizumi’s mouth had twitched up, amused, at how defensive Kindaichi had sounded about that. It reminded himself of how he invariably found himself sticking up for Oikawa more times than he could count.

After a few moments of mulling the details over, Watari gave a small nod. “The usual procedure, then?”

Iwaizumi nodded in return. They would need to talk with Kunimi’s employers, family, and friends, and see if they could get access to the man’s apartment to look for any clues there.

“I want you with me when I call his parents,” Iwaizumi said. “See what kind of details we both get from them.” Most disappearances could be traced back to family and close acquaintances, and Iwaizumi didn’t want any minor clues or hunches escaping his notice if it were just himself speaking with Kunimi’s family.

Watari picked up the phone receiver on his desk with a grin. “How about now, then?”

Iwaizumi barked out a laugh, more than ready to get started. “Read my mind.”

\--------------

Four days into the investigation, they were still no closer to figuring out what had happened with Kunimi. His workplace had provided conclusive evidence that Kunimi had come to work, then not at all after his disappearance, and they’d exhausted all avenues with questioning and learning about Kunimi from his pool of friends.

The first conversation that they had had with Kunimi’s parents — with his father, his mother out for tea with friends — had made it relatively clear that Kunimi’s parents were worried about their son. Iwaizumi had pressed them — had Kunimi ever run away before? What was his method of coping with stress? Had he given any sense of becoming involved with trouble?

His parents had refuted each question, his father bristling enough against them that Watari had gently suggested to Iwaizumi that he be the one to travel to Miyagi, and interview Kunimi’s parents and his fiancée in person.

That left Iwaizumi to comb over the details that they had gathered already. The cameras at the train station had showed Kunimi on the day that he was expected back in Sendai, boarding the train. Yamamoto had wired himself up with coffee and taken on the task of checking every station’s cameras on all the stops for the entire line of that train, but there had been no sign of Kunimi leaving from it. He must have before the end of the line, though; the station manager had confirmed that his staff always checked the carriages and would have noticed if Kunimi had still been aboard.

So, somewhere between Tokyo and Shin-Aomori, Kunimi had left the train. Whether by his own will or not, was the question. With each passing day, Iwaizumi was more certain that this wasn’t a case of kidnapping; who kidnapped but didn’t send a ransom? Ruling that out, though, didn’t make the other options more pleasant. Sure, Kunimi could have run away, but there was always the off-chance that he hadn’t. And Iwaizumi’s whole damn job was to investigate those ‘hadn’ts’ and make sure they weren’t true.

He scrolled through the records of Kunimi’s entire case file, over the notes of all their interviews and recordings, until he got to the section of photos and videos. Kunimi hadn’t looked particularly vulnerable in any of the photos that his parents had sent over, or that Kindaichi had shown him. Kunimi’s mother had even shared the voicemails that she kept from her son; Iwaizumi would have raised an eyebrow, if he didn’t know from personal experience that his parents still kept video recordings of his old one-man plays where he reenacted key Godzilla battles, in his Godzilla onesie.

In those voicemails, Kunimi’s voice was contrastingly deeper in tone than his build or face suggested, and always neutral and even. He didn’t talk much, though, so Iwaizumi was certain that if Kunimi had caught the attention of a passerby on the street, it wasn’t likely that they would have known that, even as they started to follow him. They would have been mainly focused on his tall, lithe frame. His face was usually impassive, but those large eyes and slouching posture — maybe at night it had captivated someone, someone who’d tailed him onto a train the next day, or even days after...

Iwaizumi shuddered and stamped his foot against the mat leading out to the staff parking lot. After years of working cases, he knew that sometimes you had to think like a criminal, but he hated how it felt, getting into that mindset. Seeing everyone as prey, no longer a human being in their own right and just — a body and plaything to toy with or do as you wanted.

He had to place his hand over the roof of his car for a moment, taking a deep breath and centering himself again. Unlocking his car, Iwaizumi settled in the driver’s seat, checking the rearview mirror. No one was walking behind him, so he had an unfettered view to Oikawa’s Mercedes parked in the spot across from his. The man wasn’t the sort to splurge on a fancy brand car, but it had been a gift from his parents a number of years ago, when he’d graduated from his training and his research had been accepted into one of the most referenced criminology research journals in the country.  
  
It still suited Oikawa, Iwaizumi mused, as he backed slowly out of his spot. He tapped the brake to turn his wheel and reverse out, and that was when he realized — his brakes weren’t working. Iwaizumi stepped on his brakes harder, but still his car inexorably rolled inch by inch towards Oikawa’s car **—** shit, _shit_   **—** He yanked his parking brake up and put his car into park, other hand already working to hit the release on his seatbelt.

Grabbing the door handle, Iwaizumi flung his door open and got out of the car, pivoting back to plant his hands flat against the dashboard and the interior of the door. He pushed from his knees and dug his feet against the concrete, trying to slow his car down against its slow roll. A couple of the officers coming in and out of the parking lot rushed to help, opening the other car door and bracing it from the other side and back. The seconds were excruciating as he used the full force of his weight, shoulders bunching and neck straining, against his car, trying to push it forward and force it into a standstill.

At last, he felt the gentle bump of the back of his bumper against the front of Oikawa’s, as his car came to a stop and Oikawa’s car alarm started to blare. Looking up, Iwaizumi saw as Oikawa flung open the window to his office, two stories above him, at the recognizable sound. His best friend immediately honed in on what had caused his car alarm to go haywire.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shrieked down. “If this is a prank Iwa-chan, it’s the worst, just because I told your date you liked girl pop bands doesn’t mean you can crash my car!”

“Stop screaming!” Iwaizumi yelled back, slamming the door of his car with a heavy pant. He could feel the sweat dampening his shirt under his armpits. “I didn’t do this on purpose, dumbass!”

Oikawa probably hadn’t even heard that last part, already gone from the view of the window. Taking his time to thank the others who’d helped, Iwaizumi waved off a coworker’s offer to give him a ride to where he was headed, but accepted that they would call a tow truck for him. Even as everyone dispersed, they kept darting curious glances to his car, and Iwaizumi knew that he’d have to brace himself for this event being the center of the rumour mill for the next few days.

When Oikawa arrived, sprinting across the parking lot and past Iwaizumi, to fret over his car’s bumper, Iwaizumi just sagged further against the side of his car.

“Can’t you move it?” Oikawa ordered, trying to push at Iwaizumi’s car so he could see if his own had any scratches or beauty dents or whatever. That was low on Iwaizumi’s list of priorities, considering how he was pretty sure someone might have just tried to kill him. The sweat dampening his skin and the burn in his thighs took precedence over Oikawa’s car as well.

“The brakes aren’t working,” he shot back instead, peeling off his suit jacket and popping open the first four buttons of his shirt. “Why else would this’ve even happened.”

Oikawa looked over at Iwaizumi at that, and finally straightened up from his kneeling position at trying to look at the underside of his bumper. “They’re not? What happened?”

With a sigh, Iwaizumi leaned against the side of his car, and recounted the last few and very weird minutes of his life.

“At least the chief’s going to be over the fucking moon that I won’t be able to drive my car until it’s fixed,” he finished with a grumble. Irihata had been trying to have the entire station drive regulation cars that were purchased and belonged to the force, when they were on duty. For detectives, the rule had always been flouted — by Iwaizumi, at least. Sometimes it was easier in the split moment of going after a lead, just to take or stay in his own car.

The pensive look on Oikawa’s face was gone with an eye-roll. “I think Irihata-san has other things at the forefront of his mind than finally getting you to drive a new car, Iwa-chan. Just imagine: if my car wasn’t in the way to save the day, you would’ve driven it out on the road, and who knows what would’ve happened when you needed your brakes then.”

Iwaizumi smacked Oikawa’s thigh with a familiar feeling of irritated disbelief . “Are you seriously making your car the hero of the story right now?”

“My car,” Oikawa sniffed, “is the best.” It was one of the nicer cars that anyone at their level at the station owned, and Oikawa took diligent care of it. “Just because your car doesn’t have a meaningful and moving backstory behind it, doesn’t mean you can neglect keeping it maintained, Iwa-chan,” he lectured.

“And you know, Irihata-san wouldn’t have a reason to keep trying to get you to change cars, if you at least kept your car maintained properly. When was the last time you took it in for a service?”

“Uh…”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa reproached. “See? There’s no way you would’ve found out anything was wrong with it until it was too late anyway.”

Iwaizumi glared at Oikawa, radiating doom, and his friend scurried over to the safety of the other side of Iwaizumi’s car, before calling over the roof, “you know I’m right.”

\--------------

The tow truck took Iwaizumi to the nearest mechanic’s that was affiliated with the police department. Iwaizumi had never been there before — then again, he hadn’t been to any mechanic’s in years — but since his accident had happened on the station’s property, and the towing company had been called by one of his colleagues rather than himself, Iwaizumi was fine with this. He had a hunch that this was more than just an accident, to boot, so better to have this handled according to procedure.

He got out of the truck, and headed towards the offices while the driver stayed behind to unload his car. There was no one he could see through the glass windows at the reception desk, but when Iwaizumi turned his head slightly to scan around, he saw a person watching Iwaizumi, eyes narrowed slightly. They also looked rimmed with...eyeliner? Iwaizumi was surprised at how it seemed to suit the man’s otherwise wary and disgruntled demeanor. He looked like he’d been in the middle of his work; he had his arms braced along the grill of a car, the hood popped open.

Iwaizumi shook his head slightly. “Hi, I’m here to request a repair,” he tried to focus, keeping his gaze evenly on the other man’s. The man looked roughly Iwaizumi’s age, and everything about him drew attention — from his short blond hair with two odd black stripes, precisely cut that seemed to mirror how sharp way his eyes looked, almost gleaming with the sullen look in them.

“Okay,” the blond replied gruffly. “You know what for?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi scrubbed the back of his hair, chagrined. “Well. I think the brakes got cut.”

Of all the reactions he was expecting, it wasn’t for the mechanic to fold his arms across his chest and roll his eyes.

“What?” Iwaizumi asked defensively.

The mechanic replied with a surly “nothin’,” which implied to Iwaizumi that there was a whole lot of something that he was chewing over.

“Spit it out,” Iwaizumi said, resting his hands on his hips.

After a long moment’s silence of staring the other man down, the mechanic finally muttered, “you’re a cop, aren’t you.” Flat, as if he knew. Maybe he did; Iwaizumi doubted the tow truck driver wouldn’t have called ahead.

“Yeah.” The ‘so?’ died off on Iwaizumi’s tongue, as it registered to him. He wondered how many times this mechanic had had to deal with police officers bringing their cars in and claiming they were bigshots, talking themselves up as having cases important enough to warrant a hit on them, when in reality it was something harmless. Iwaizumi had worked with colleagues like that, and it annoyed him to no end.

“I meant that as a possibility,” he amended. “They’re not working at all, though. They were when I drove into work, and then two hours later, when I was reversing out of a parking space — nothing.”

The blond stared at him for a moment, giving Iwaizumi the sense that he was about to say something more. Instead, he wiped his hands on the rag slung in the pocket of his overalls, and walked towards Iwaizumi. “You need to fill out a form,” he said, walking past and opening the door, stepping through but keeping his arm outstretched to hold it expectantly open for Iwaizumi.

Inside, Iwaizumi watched the other man grab a form and clipboard from the front desk, and walked over to Iwaizumi to hand the clipped form and a pen out to him. He turned and walked out the door as soon as he’d done that.

A large part of Iwaizumi’s job was working with a whole gamut of types of personalities and attitudes — especially people with attitudes. The mechanic wasn’t exactly a hostile sort in Iwaizumi’s opinion — he just wasn’t sociable. Not that Iwaizumi minded; working at the station and then often having to get Oikawa to take a break from work by keeping him company, or accompanying him to places where there was a lot of company, didn’t give Iwaizumi a lot of chances to experience some peace and quiet while others were around.

He followed the blond man back out to the garage, where the man had already popped up the hood of Iwaizumi’s car. Iwaizumi stood off to the side, and filled out all of the required fields. When he got to the section to fill in his credentials and officer number, he looked over at the man after he realized: with the whirlwind and potential implications of what was happening with the case, he hadn’t even asked the man for introductions.

“I’m Iwaizumi, by the way. Sorry. And you are?”

There was only the sound of the mechanic tinkering with some part of the car for a few moments, before Iwaizumi heard his reply.

“Kyoutani.”

“Nice to meet you,” Iwaizumi replied. When no further response came, he went back to the form, a small grin on his lips.

Once he was finished, he walked over to his car and rapped the side of her frame with his knuckles. Kyoutani looked up from his work, and jerked his head slightly down, gesturing at the ground with his chin. “You can put it there for now.”

“Is that it?”

Kyoutani just made a slight nod. Iwaizumi straightened up from squatting slightly to lean the clipboard against his front tire.

“When do you think I can expect a report from you guys?”

“When I’m done,” was Kyoutani’s reply. Then he added, “bye,” and turned obstinately back to the car. He had his shoulders hunched, and his back radiated a warning about just what he expected Iwaizumi to do next.  
  
With that kind of dismissal, Iwaizumi was surprised when he arrived at work the next day, to see that Kyoutani had already filed his report. He knew that the police had partnerships with certain garage shops just because it made work easier, to have places familiar with their processes, but still, this was an impressive turnaround time.

He clicked open the report, to see two sentences at the top.

_Brakes are intact and didn’t show any signs of tampering. Crankshaft seal is cracked, and repeated oil leakage messed with the friction face of the discs rotors where the brake pads come into contact._

Under the ‘additional comments’ section, the surly man had also written:

_This is why you should get all cars on the force serviced._

Iwaizumi snorted at that, then groaned, digging his fingers in his hair and scrubbing through it in frustration. That was the final piece of evidence that Irihata needed, he just knew it, to make it a rule that Iwaizumi take a car from the force from now on. A few minutes later, when Watari arrived, he took one look at Iwaizumi, and asked, “bad news or bad food?”

“I don’t look _that_  constipated,” Iwaizumi groused out of habit, slumping back in his chair and freeing his hair from his fingers to press his knuckles against his temple instead. “The mechanic didn’t find any evidence of tampering with the brakes.”

“That’s...good?” Watari pulled his own chair out and took a seat. “I was thinking about it all of yesterday, and I can’t think of why anyone would target you. And only those of us working the case or the people we interviewed would know you’re even involved with it.”

“I know. It just would’ve meant we had an actual lead.” Iwaizumi tipped his head up to look at the tiles of the ceiling. “Now, though. We should broaden the search. See if there are other men and women similar to Kunimi’s description who are missing too.” He looked back down at Watari, and his partner gave him a nod. It was likely they’d end up at a dead end, but Iwaizumi would rather that than standing still and letting each day go by without getting any closer to finding Kunimi.

Irihata was expecting him for an update on this case, so Iwaizumi asked Watari to start searching through their archives and other channels first. Watari waved him off with an understanding and wry, “good luck,” that Iwaizumi accepted. He’d need it.

\--------------

In the years that Kyoutani had worked at this garage, he’d fielded a number of jobs from the police force; his boss had already built up the relationship, and a steady stream of their work came from maintenance for squad cars, repairs that needed a quick turnaround, and the odd complete detailing. There were a couple of his coworkers who worked on these sorts of jobs too, but more and more of them were shifted onto Kyoutani’s workorders when he’d taken the job here. Kyoutani didn’t really get how a six-month stint as a police recruit at the academy made him any more experienced or gave him any more insight than his boss or the others already had, but ultimately, the man was a decent person to work for, and never gave Kyoutani any trouble or judged his attitude.

Besides, other than dealing with the arrogant cops who came by, it was the same work as any. Which was why, when Kyoutani had directed that 'bye' to the detective with the dark, tanned skin and ridiculously firm and thick upper arms — and all around thickness, because those slacks hadn’t left anything to the imagination — he hadn’t meant it that way. Well, no, he had, that was the whole reason he’d said it. But he hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like something final, like Iwaizumi was supposed to stay out for good.

He could still remember the way Iwaizumi had kept his gaze evenly on Kyoutani’s, despite looking preoccupied by his car troubles, to the point that he hadn't even noticed that he'd only buttoned his shirt up halfway, for whatever weird reason. He had also sounded contrite enough that Kyoutani was pretty certain that once he read the report that Kyoutani had written, he’d readily accept that someone hadn’t been gunning for him.

He also hadn’t pushed for Kyoutani to finish it immediately and to prioritize his case before everyone else’s, even though police requests usually did. So Kyoutani had heeded how the situation itself had sounded interesting enough, and started on it after Iwaizumi had left. His curiosity had shifted to disgust, though, when he’d popped open the hood of Iwaizumi’s car and surmised that the other man hadn’t gotten it serviced in what looked like years.

Dumbass.

He was leaning against a car that he’d just finished, with a few minutes before his lunch break, when he heard the approaching of a car. Looking up, he saw one of the squad cars of the police force, and frowned, wondering what now.

The person who got out of the car had a haircut buzzed shorter than his, and was walking right towards Kyoutani. As he got closer, Kyoutani saw his eyes widen, and mouth spread into a surprised but pleased smile. He didn’t see that look often.

“Oh! Wow, Kyoutani! It’s been a while. Hi.”

Kyoutani narrowed his eyes; how had the other man known his name?

“Hey,” was his short greeting. After a moment’s pause, he added, “I don’t know who you are.”

“Oh,” the man laughed slightly. “Sorry about that. I’m Watari Shinji — I was in your class the first year at the police academy back in Sendai.”

There were only a handful of faces that Kyoutani remembered from that short stint, before he’d concluded that there were better things he could do for society than take orders from attending officers who were just chomping at the bit to call him insubordinate and who couldn’t take being shown up during their practice drills. One of those faces was the attending officer whom Kyoutani had really wanted to punch. Just because Kyoutani hadn’t done it their way, didn’t mean it wasn’t just as effective. Or even moreso.

Kyoutani didn’t care about rubbing people the wrong way, or even being singled out by others because he was doing his job, but it had gotten frustrating when those officers and classmates couldn’t focus themselves and actually _do their jobs_  so Kyoutani could do his. And had, the day he’d decided to resign. He also hadn’t liked the book part of the training either, and learning to enforce some laws he didn’t even think were necessary. He wouldn’t even call them ‘guiding principles.’ If you wanted to burn something in the park at 4am, godspeed, you probably had a good reason too.

Watari, as he stared at the man for a few moments longer, was now one of those faces. He remembered the man in the way that Watari had been unmemorable: an uncommon someone who hadn’t made any trouble with Kyoutani, and also hadn’t flinched away when they were sparring together. Watari also sat in the front of their classes, which was probably why Kyoutani hadn’t recognized that shaved head from the front, or his face.

“...Yeah,” he said again.

Watari beamed wider. “How’ve you been?”

Kyoutani had to will himself a great deal to push down the low and weary groan inexorably rising up in his chest. Small talk.

“Fine. What d’you need?” he headed Watari off.

The curt tone hadn’t escaped Watari’s notice, but for some reason, the man was smiling just as pleased as he looked at Kyoutani.

“I’m here to follow up on the report you submitted, for my partner’s car. He came in yesterday; Iwaizumi Hajime?”

At Kyoutani’s unchanged expression, Watari continued. “Your report was helpful for us to rule out foul play or sabotage as a likely cause, and thank you for that. Still, by procedure, we’ll be keeping it as evidence in our case, so I was just dropping by to ask the mechanic to make sure they don’t let Iwaizumi-san dog them into letting him have his car back. Not until we’ve closed the case.”

He grinned at Kyoutani warmly. “To be honest, I’m relieved it’s you. If it were any other mechanic, I think they’d cave eventually because of Iwaizumi-san, but you actually understand procedure. I know I can trust you to do what’s right.”

That earned Watari an outright, albeit quiet, scoff from Kyoutani. “You forget what I was like in training?”

“No,” Watari responded cheerily, unfazed. “That’s why I’m counting on you, Kyoutani.”

Kyoutani was still chewing skeptically over Watari’s warning, when, after his lunch break, Iwaizumi showed up, driving one of the standard vehicles of the police force, designated license plate and all.

He strode up to Kyoutani, nodding in greeting. “Afternoon, Kyoutani-san.” He gave Kyoutani a look of approval and appreciation, adding, “thank you for getting that report to us so quickly.”

That expression on Iwaizumi’s face had Kyoutani’s suspicious rising, and he muttered, “yeah. Now what do you want?”

“I’m —” Iwaizumi broke off, frowning. They stared at each other for a few moments, before Iwaizumi gritted out, reluctantly, “I’m here to pick up my car.”

“No.”

Iwaizumi paused a step, and Kyoutani took a moment to soak in the feeling of accomplishment, that the detective had not been expecting that response. That moment was short-lived, because then Iwaizumi scrunched his eyebrows, perplexed, and Kyoutani realized that the other man looked good doing that as well. Shit.

“No?” Iwaizumi asked.

For once in his life, Kyoutani found it useful to parrot back an official decision, because it was a little difficult to concentrate at the moment. “Can’t. We’re keeping it in evidence.”

“Ev-” Iwaizumi blew out a gust of breath. “What evidence? There wasn’t any tampering, you checked it over for that.”

Kyoutani shrugged. “‘s what your office says.”

Iwaizumi glowered. That was also a good look on him, with his rugged face and body, and sharp, dark eyebrows and a very pouty pair of lips. Kyoutani jerked his shoulders in a shrug, and busied himself by adding, “I’m gonna go. I have to fix your car. Need to order in the new seal.”

Just like that, Iwaizumi’s expression eased and brightened, and Kyoutani felt the urge to kick something, hard.

“Great. So I’ll get my car after that, then?”

“Not my call,” he muttered, turning back to the bike and picking up the rear light that he needed to install back on. “I’m just doing my job. Should you be doing yours?”

Iwaizumi’s voice was rough but amused. “That’s why I’m here after my shift.”

Kyoutani turned his head to the side, and leveled an even stare at Iwaizumi. “Then go home.”

\--------------

Although Iwaizumi had been surprised to learn from Watari that Kyoutani had been in his class at the academy, he knew there were plenty of reasons why people decided to quit training. He wondered how promising Kyoutani had been though; Watari seemed to have liked Kyoutani as a classmate, even though some of his stories about his sparring training now were a lot more believable, now that Iwaizumi had actually met the other guy.

He was getting a better sense this afternoon as well, when he’d arrived at the garage to check on why he still hadn’t gotten a call to pick up his car yet. Another mechanic had directed Iwaizumi over to where Kyoutani was working, with the hood of Iwaizumi’s car propped open.

When he looked up at Iwaizumi’s approaching figure, he narrowed his eyes. “Why’re you here?”

“To pick up my car,” Iwaizumi replied, tipping his head towards it. “How’s it going?”

Kyoutani frowned. “I’m doing my job. Fixing your car. It took me a while to track down the parts for this model, and the small shop that carries it took a while to get it shipped over.”

Something in his surly tone had Iwaizumi frowning as well, defensive, folding his arms. “Yeah, it’s old. Something wrong with old cars?” Iwaizumi asked, daring Kyoutani to say otherwise.

“No. I like them.” Kyoutani replied in a deliberate tone, as if to make Iwaizumi feel like an ass.

Iwaizumi felt like an ass.

“Sorry. I —”

“Look,” Kyoutani interrupted. He dropped his wrench into the toolbox at his feet, dropping it with a small clang of metal on metal. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got better cases to solve than the guy who won’t give you your car back. Why are you here?”

“It’s fine. Like I said last time, I’m off-duty when I drop by, you know.” He must have come across as enough of an immovable force, because Kyoutani just scrutinized him with glaring, hooded eyes for a few seconds, before exhaling slowly, but no less irritated.

“If you’re going to stick around, then you better be useful and carry my boxes.”

Iwaizumi stared, incredulous, at Kyoutani, to see if the other man was serious. Kyoutani remained as impassive and unimpressed as ever, and his stare almost seemed to be a challenge about how insouciant he could be about whether or not Iwaizumi stayed.

“You make all the police officers do this?”

“Only the ones who can’t take a hint.”

Iwaizumi didn’t mind manual labour, but it was Kyoutani’s attitude that made a vein in his temple throb. “You've sure got a mouth on you.”

There was silence for a few moments, as Kyoutani’s face got progressively redder and his small, thin brows drew even more sharp and ferocious. Iwaizumi noted that he must’ve touched a nerve there, although he had no clue about what.

Kyoutani jerked his head towards a box sitting on the workbench across the garage, jaw clenching. “Get that.”

He leaned back over the car’s engine, as if waiting expectantly, and Iwaizumi walked over to it after a few moments’ pause. He pulled the flap of the already-opened box up, and looked inside. So, _that_  was what a crankshaft seal looked like, he mused, bringing the thick ring of rubber over to Kyoutani.

They worked in mostly in silence for the rest of the time, Iwaizumi watching as Kyoutani checked the components of his car and pointed out certain places, delivering gruff instructions about what Iwaizumi should make sure he kept maintained. With all of the pointing he made, Iwaizumi became acutely aware of the way Kyoutani’s hands looked, skin stretching over rough knuckles, and the flexing of muscles in his bared forearms. It wasn’t a bad way to spend his afternoon; Kyoutani was an attractive guy, that much was clear to Iwaizumi.

With the new crankshaft seal lowered and fitted in, Kyoutani straightened from the car and wiped his hands on the rag shoved securely in his back pocket. He lowered the lift support from the hood, and closed it quietly, an easy and practiced push down for the hood to latch closed. He didn’t turn his head to look at Iwaizumi however, and remained staring at their murky reflections on the hood for the moments that passed between them. Iwaizumi studied Kyoutani’s profile, sharp jaw and eyes, close enough to see the impeccable and precise lines of the other man’s eyeliner. It looked good on Kyoutani. He admitted to himself that it had been a while, since he’d met someone who could pull his entire focus like Kyoutani did, even if most of the time it was because the other man was mouthing off to him.

He had just opened his mouth to thank Kyoutani, when the man seemed to fold against whatever answers he’d been searching for in their reflection, and interjected, “if your boss won’t give it back to you yet, you can come see it.” He pushed himself away from Iwaizumi’s car, eyes darting to Iwaizumi’s face.

“If you love your car that much,” he deadpanned.

Iwaizumi paused, surprised at Kyoutani’s offer. It didn’t stop him from grinning, and musing, “sounds like it’s growing on you too,” just to see how Kyoutani glared at him.

\--------------

Kyoutani wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that Iwaizumi had taken his offer at face value. The older man had stopped by before his shift the next time, coffee in hand and hair sticking up in a way that suggested that he’d tried to comb it, rather than the usual disarray it wound up in at the end of the day, after what looked like him combing his fingers through his hair in frustration or deep thought.

He greeted Kyoutani, adding the question that Kyoutani had come to expect. “Can I —”

“No.”

“I’ve got an hour.”

“...‘Kay.”

That was how Kyoutani found himself pulling up the car he was working on today and parking it next to Iwaizumi’s, to set out his toolbox to tune it up here instead of at the garage. Just to keep Iwaizumi company. And to keep an eye on him, because Iwaizumi’s car was as good as it would ever be, and Kyoutani was sure that Iwaizumi had a spare key for it, so the only thing separating the man from taking his car on a joyride was someone keeping an eye on him at all times. Iwaizumi didn’t seem like the sort who would disobey direct orders and take his car, but like hell Kyoutani was going to be the one who was on the clock if the guy proved he was stubborn enough to prove him wrong. Asshole. 

He was more than ready to shut Iwaizumi down too; Kyoutani was already often tempted to take a running start and tackle Iwaizumi onto the ground when he was being difficult. His thoughts usually led from there to punching Iwaizumi and dragging his ass to dump him into his car, while definitely not thinking about that ass and how the swelling of Iwaizumi’s split lip would feel when Kyoutani kissed him against the seats of his car.

A small piece of his decision to stick around Iwaizumi was also the look that had come across Iwaizumi’s face when Kyoutani had first let him visit his car, which categorically had not made Kyoutani’s pulse throb out of time. Neither did any of the ways that Iwaizumi’s demeanor affect him, when it seemed to charge the air around them when he talked about his work. Iwaizumi was currently describing a case that was a tricky one on the detective’s exam, and it was interesting enough to Kyoutani as he listened. All he had to do was focus on the details of the case itself, rather than the warm husk of Iwaizumi’s voice, and the answer was obvious. Which he told Iwaizumi when he pointed out the solution.

It didn’t seem like Iwaizumi had expected him to be able to figure it out this quickly, though, because Kyoutani suddenly found himself being thumped on the back, and when he turned his head to scowl and quite possibly assault a police officer, he was met face-to-face with the bright and impressed grin on Iwaizumi’s face. The other man’s expression radiated approval, as he said wryly, “we missed out. You would’ve been a great detective.”

Kyoutani frowned, his brows drawing deep as he looked down and hunched his shoulders up. It wasn’t like it was a thought that he hadn’t had himself, more times than he cared to think about now, especially in the early days after he’d left the force. “I like my job,” he said quietly, looking away from Iwaizumi’s suddenly even more unbearable presence.

There was a pause, before Iwaizumi simply replied, “I know.” His tone was honest, and it made Kyoutani’s frame relax slightly. And then Iwaizumi leaned his shoulder to bump Kyoutani’s, holding it there for a moment, as if he understood. Kyoutani felt his face burn, all the way down to meet the heat that was radiating up from his shoulder, where it touched Iwaizumi’s.

\--------------

Iwaizumi hadn’t made any more progress with trying to get Kyoutani to give him his car back. He’d gone there six times now, and was even starting to anticipate the disgruntled look on Kyoutani’s face. What was he supposed to do, though? Stop going? That felt like a loss.

He was making more progress with the serial murder investigation, though. A few days of combing through reports and leads in the past three years — and they were still going back further — had given him something to work with. At least, until he’d arrived at the office and found Watari sitting at his desk.

Iwaizumi had spent the early morning nursing his coffee and trying to persuade Kyoutani as usual to give him his car back, and then helping the other man roll tires out across the scrapyard and to the place where the team needed them. He’d just finished stacking two tires atop a third — it was quicker to finish the task that way, and easy if he squatted slightly and lifted from his knees — when he had turned around to find Kyoutani staring at him. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what to make of it, but there was something about it that he liked, even as he raised an eyebrow in question.

“I bet I can do more tires than you,” was Kyoutani’s answer, and had Iwaizumi laughing.

“Thought we were supposed to be working.”

“This is working.” Kyoutani gave Iwaizumi a contemptuous look that had Iwaizumi biting down a grin. There was something about getting a reaction from Kyoutani, and seeing more of his personality, that Iwaizumi found appealing to work at.

He thought about the slight burn in his arms and thighs, and grinned at Kyoutani. “You’re on.”

He beat Kyoutani squarely, and climbed atop his pile of tires, stacked in victory, to take a seat. From his vantage point, he watched Kyoutani storm over. The other man looked at him and said, frustration deepening his voice into a growl, “again.”

“Pretty sure this is where your boss wants these tires though, sport,” Iwaizumi grinned down at Kyoutani. It was a nice change of view, getting to see the top of Kyoutani’s head and learning that it was a lot rounder than he’d expected. “There’s no more ‘work’ left to do.”

Kyoutani’s thinned lips relaxed into a derisive expression, as he said, in a tone that did not bode well for how neutral he appeared, “yeah? That’s funny, because you look like you’re practicing for your desk job.”

“Watch it,” Iwaizumi said with a sharp smile at Kyoutani, leaning forward and propping his arms on his knees. He watched as Kyoutani seemed to fume more, red tipping at his ears and across his face.

“Bet I can run across this yard faster than you,” Kyoutani bit out. He shifted to the side slightly, giving Iwaizumi space to get back on the ground. It was a gesture of an even challenge, as childish as it was to race in the first place.

Iwaizumi was a sucker for it too, though. “You’re on,” he grinned.

He had had to head off to work after that, but it was buoyed by his win there as well, when he sprinted into the garage, where two of Kyoutani’s coworkers were setting up their car ramps, with Kyoutani was still a good distance behind him. The mechanics had looked bewildered at the sight of the two of them charging the garage at full-force, which had Iwaizumi laughing. He reached out to slap Kyoutani’s back when the younger man careened into the space, momentum carrying him forward to the point that he was just barely able to get his feet ahead so he didn’t stumble, until Iwaizumi clapped him on the back, and it must have taken all of his strength not to pitch forward at that. Iwaizumi ruffled Kyoutani’s hair for good measure there, which he was proud of Kyoutani for enduring as well.

When he got into the office, his plan was to check over the case file and make a call to the apartment complex where of the missing women had lived, and then wash himself up in the sink from the impromptu sweat session he’d had with Kyoutani. That was hindered when he found Watari sitting at his desk.

“You haven’t taken a day off since this case started, Iwaizumi. I’m making it mandatory, now.”

“Watari. Let me get to my computer.”

Watari just pulled himself and Iwaizumi’s chair into the legroom of his desk, settling in comfortably, and smiled beatifically at Iwaizumi.

With a growl, Iwaizumi dragged the chair at Watari’s desk out instead, and sat in front of his partner’s computer. “Fine, I’ll just use yours. Your password’s always something related to your girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

Iwaizumi paused, looking away from the monitor to Watari. “Oh. Man, Watari, I’m sorry.”

Watari gave Iwaizumi a wry and gentle smile, and shook his head.

“When did you guys...?”

With a sigh and a pointed look, Watari replied, “that weekend after I came back from talking to Kunimi’s parents. That’s why you’re heading home right now, getting some rest and combing your hair afterwards, Iwaizumi, and _then_  you can come back to the station.”

So Iwaizumi found himself at home in the middle of the morning, skin uncomfortably dry from sweat and mind itching at how he could have overlooked Watari’s troubles. He wondered what else he’d missed, so hell-bent on Kunimi’s case. He grudgingly dragged his clothes off and took a shower, and dropped himself into bed. He slept for seven hours, and then woke up and stared at his pillow for a few minutes, that seemed to stretch into hours. He woke up to find that he’d fallen asleep again.

It was only the dead of night and his neighbours on either side of the walls that stopped Iwaizumi from starting up his blender to liquefy a meal for his growling stomach, and he leaned against the counter in his kitchen, eating nori out of the bag and waiting for the rice he’d steamed to finish cooking. He was used to thinking over cases at times like these, but his mind kept wandering back to how he’d spent his morning with Kyoutani. The ache that spanned his shoulders and pulsed in his arms when he moved was the good kind, and Iwaizumi found himself thinking about how he hadn’t had much fun like that lately.

He’d liked it. He liked Kyoutani as well. Decision made, during his lunch break the next day, and being seen out by a particularly pleased and vindicated-looking Watari, Iwaizumi drove to the garage where Kyoutani worked.

The other had likely just finished his lunch, sitting on a car creeper seat as he was getting ready to roll himself under the car. He stared warily at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi held a hand out placatingly. “I’m not here for my car this time.”

Kyoutani continued to stare at him.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Iwaizumi asked, “want to get dinner me tonight? I mean it as a date, but. Whatever you’re good with is fine by —”

Kyoutani interrupted him with a flat, “no.” His entire face was a dark red, and his ears looked it too, and it was hope that had Iwaizumi willing himself to stay quiet for the seconds that passed between them. A part of him wondered, though, if he’d gotten it wrong, and the thunderous look on Kyoutani’s face was pure anger. Before Iwaizumi could open his mouth again to apologize, the younger man growled out, “volleyball. I’ve got season tickets. We can go to that.”

The disappointment curling in the pit of his stomach lurched up into surprise and a level of excitement that Iwaizumi hadn’t felt in a while, and he smiled wide. “That sounds really good. It’s a date, then.” He brought one of his hands up to rub the back of his head, still feeling amazed that Kyoutani had agreed.

“I’ll see you then, Kyoutani-san.”

“Wait.” Kyoutani’s tone was as flat as ever, but there was a faint look of surprise across his face, as his features relaxed slightly. “You’re not going to see your car?”

“Well, like I said,” Iwaizumi pointed out with a grin, “I came to see you.”

Kyoutani’s face turned a shade redder, and he looked ready to bolt, which had Iwaizumi feeling sorry; he’d only wanted to fluster the guy to see that cute reaction, not tip him over the edge. “Sorr—”

“Give me your phone,” Kyoutani bit out, standing up from his seat. Iwaizumi noted the bunching of those thighs under Kyoutani’s coveralls, as he pulled his phone out.

“Why?”

The line of Kyoutani’s mouth curved enticingly up, just the slightest amount. “You don’t have my number.”

“Oh —” Iwaizumi huffed out a laugh. When Kyoutani held his hand out for the phone, Iwaizumi set it in his palm, and rested his fingers on his hand as well, giving Kyoutani’s hand a firm squeeze. To his surprise, Kyoutani closed his fingers around Iwaizumi’s wrist tightly, and stepped in closer so their noses almost touched.

“Thanks,” he breathed over Iwaizumi’s mouth, and then shifted his hand away, turning around without missing a beat, his back to Iwaizumi as he typed in his number. That gave Iwaizumi the perfect view of the reds of the tips of Kyoutani’s ears, and the flush spreading down the back of Kyoutani’s neck. Cute.

Later, they’d ended up in the stands at the stadium where the volleyball game was being played, Iwaizumi hollering as the middle blocker slammed in a point.

“Now he knows how to use his height.”

Hearing Kyoutani huff out a quiet, low laugh, had amusement and a small, warm curl of pride flare inside Iwaizumi.

“Volleyball’s more than height,” Kyoutani pointed out, dryly.

“Preaching to the choir,” Iwaizumi grinned back, seating himself back down next to Kyoutani and throwing an arm around the back of Kyoutani’s chair. “One of my old teammates’ go-to move was pulling a feint though. Kind of hard for a shorter person to do it, when they’re running almost full-speed just to get the height to jump up there.”

“Feints are dumb,” Kyoutani replied decisively. “There’s no point if you don’t hit it with everything you’ve got. ‘s what I do.”

\--------------

Iwaizumi delved into the next morning with that same attitude, tackling a new potential lead to connect two of their missing, presumed dead, victims, that Watari had been searching through in their database of unsolved crimes. They were both working at their desks, when Yamaguchi led Kindaichi over to them. Kindaichi looked as concerned as always, but there was something resolute in his presence this time, when he asked Iwaizumi and Watari if he could talk with them about Kunimi and the case.

“I don’t think it’ll take long,” he said, thumb rubbing against his front pocket. “And,” he said, taking a breath and looking at Iwaizumi, “you can put everything I say on the record.”

That had Iwaizumi raising an eyebrow, and exchanging a look with Watari.

“Why don’t we go out to the rest area first?” Watari suggested politely, considering how antsy Kindaichi seemed to simmer. He stood from his desk and gesturing for Kindaichi to follow him. The three of them walked to the small garden and rest area that the building had as a side courtyard, and Iwaizumi waved Kindaichi to take a seat on the bench with him. Bracing one arm on the back of the bench, Iwaizumi turned his head slightly to look at Kindaichi, as Watari stood in front of them, hands clasped behind his back.

“So what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Kindaichi rubbed his hand against the front of his thigh. “I’ve got something to confess,” he blurted out. “And I promise that you can bring me into the interview room and I’ll tell you it all again, exactly, on the record, if you want but I just...wanted you to hear it first.”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders tensed slightly, and he let out a slow breath. “Kindaichi-san. What is this about?”

“Kunimi… He’s not missing.”

Watari had gone unnervingly still.

“I know where he is.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows rose high in surprise. “What.”

“He... he ran away,” Kindaichi said miserably, looking at Iwaizumi from the corner of his eye, hunched over on the bench. “Because he didn’t want to marry Sonohara-san, and she liked him but didn’t want to get married either, and their parents kept pushing for a wedding, so he thought that. He’d let them think he disappeared for a bit, and give them some perspective.”

“That’s bullshit,” Iwaizumi said as Watari coughed, and Kindaichi shook his head frantically, freezing in mid-shake to start nodding.

“I know, I know it’s really bad, but he didn’t know what else to do, and you know Kunimi, he _hates_  confrontation. It’s one of the things he’ll really put all his effort into avoiding, and he can get...really creative about it.”

Iwaizumi snorted quietly.

Watari was the one to ask calmly, reproach barely there, but Iwaizumi could tell that Kindaichi’s guilt was helping him amplify that tone of Watari’s tenfold: “What did you two think his parents would react like? You didn’t consider that they would worry, thinking that their son was kidnapped or worse?”  
  
“We just wanted you to keep investigating for a long enough time, that when Kunimi felt ready to come back, his parents would be relieved that nothing worse had happened. And they’d stop pushing the idea of getting married onto him. But when I heard about how your brakes were cut… I got worried that they’d hired someone else to look into this. Or something drastic was happening. I’m really sorry, Iwaizumi-san, I didn’t want to get you mixed up in something dangerous **—** it wasn’t supposed to be dangerous —”

Iwaizumi sighed and held up a hand. “Watari didn’t update you, then?”

Kindaichi looked at Iwaizumi quizzically, and then Watari, who shook his head at Iwaizumi. “I haven’t needed to follow-up with Kindaichi-san about anything since the last time we spoke.”

Iwaizumi sighed. “My brakes weren’t cut. That accident didn’t have anything to do with the case.”

“Oh **—** oh,” Kindaichi breathed in relief.

“But by coming to me with this made-up case in the first place,” Iwaizumi said, voice stern and tinged with frustration, “you’ve tied up a significant amount of resources and time. You’ve also committed a crime, Kindaichi-san. I could convict you for that. Why did you even report this to us in the first place? You could have just told his parents he was ‘missing.’”

Kindaichi bit his lip. “We just wanted to buy him some time. And his parents would hound the police in Miyagi, so if I reported him first to you guys here, we thought I could...control the story. Keep it from getting too big.”

“Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi said, slowly. “We’re five days into an investigation for a serial murderer in Tokyo, who goes after young men and women who look like Kunimi. Does that sound to you like it hasn’t gotten too big?”

Kindaichi’s shoulders dropped further. “I **—** I know, I’m _sorry_ ,” he burst out, anguished. “I didn’t mean to. Really, I mean that, and I know I can’t make up for all the trouble I’ve caused you both…” He looked between them. “Are you **—** going to charge me?”

Iwaizumi sighed, dragging his hand through his hair. Technically, he ought to. Yet, he’d met Kunimi’s parents, and even from the few interactions that he’d had with them, he could follow the reason why Kindaichi had felt the need to come to this station first, to make the report. Since it was a Tokyo-originated investigation, the officers in Kunimi’s hometown had been cooperative and willing to hand over all the information Iwaizumi and Watari requested, and leave them to work on the case. However, if Kunimi’s parents had jumpstarted it in Miyagi, then the officers would have felt pressured, particularly by those two, to try to maintain control and leadership of the case. Iwaizumi doubted that they would have given him or Watari the permission to look into their current avenue, that was starting to look more and more like there really was a case here with these missing persons from the past.

He looked at Kindaichi, assessing him for a few seconds and unable to stop himself from feeling slightly impressed that Kindaichi bore the weight of his stare without flinching. The younger man had the air that he was ready to accept Iwaizumi’s decision, whatever it might be. Looking up at Watari, Iwaizumi saw his partner gave him a slight nod and smile, entrusting him with the decision.

With an exhale, Iwaizumi asked, “will you come into the station if I ever call you in the future, to tell me on tape what you’ve just told me?”

Kindaichi nodded.

“Do you have a way for us to call him right now, and confirm your story?”

That had Kindaichi shaking his head miserably. “No, I’m sorry. He didn’t tell me any details about where he’d be staying right now, or how to contact him, because he didn’t want me to have to lie any more than I already did.”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Then Kunimi needs to come back here, straight away. I believe you, at this time, but we’re not going to close this case until I see proof that he’s back.”

With a slow nod, Kindaichi murmured, “okay.” After a moment, he asked, “you’re not going to tell his parents…?”

“Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi said with a slight stirring of empathy for the other man, “I think that’ll be your punishment and his to tell them.”

They walked Kindaichi out of the station, and Watari blew a breath of a sigh when the younger man was out of earshot.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “That was… Do you really believe he’ll confess again if you bring him in?”

Iwaizumi tugged a hand through his hair, thinking to himself. If they did, he’d have to explain what had happened. He also didn’t like the idea of not knowing that Kunimi was accounted for, without seeing that proof himself. Still, he didn’t have much reason to suspect that Kindaichi had made up that whole story; the younger man had done a dumb thing to help out his best friend, who’d started this mess in the first place.

“We can’t say for sure,” he started, as they made their way back to their desks, “but I’m willing to believe him for now. He seems a little too honest for his own good, if news about my brakes spooked him like that, so I think he would. But we should also keep this case open for now. Until we hear from Kunimi.”

“All right,” Watari agreed after a moment’s thought. “And, actually...” He trailed off for a moment, steepling his fingers under his chin and looking up at Iwaizumi. “I want to keep digging into this. The other missing cases.”

It was always reassuring to Iwaizumi, when Watari confirmed his own hunches. “You think everything still holds up, when we take Kunimi out of the equation?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Watari echoed. “It just feels like something might be there.”

“Okay. Then we keep going.”

They worked through the rest of the morning, Iwaizumi turning over Kindaichi’s confession in his mind, while he and Watari dug deeper into their current cases. By the start of his afternoon break, Iwaizumi knew that he needed to do something to combat the weight of things, so he pulled out his phone, and started to text Kyoutani.

_Baseball game tonight?_

A few minutes later, Kyoutani replied:

**no**

His next message to Iwaizumi came an instant later.

**ramen**

\--------------

More than a week of their nights eventually ending with one of them in the other’s bed, and Iwaizumi still wasn’t used to rolling immediately away from his phone and into Kyoutani’s sleeping form when his phone rang in the middle of the night. With a low swear, Iwaizumi backed away from pressing against Kyoutani’s back, and reached over to his nightstand to grab his phone.

“H’llo? Who’s calling?”

From the faint light from the city streets outside, Iwaizumi could see when Kyoutani opened both eyes, cheek still pressed into the pillow, and kept his eye hooded at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi hooked a leg around Kyoutani’s hip, which appeased the younger man. Kyoutani let his eyelid droop lower, still staying awake for Iwaizumi though. That was enough to make Iwaizumi wedge his phone against his other ear, and reach his hand over to card through Kyoutani’s hair, following the stripes to curve around the back of his head.

“Is this Iwaizumi Hajime?” The voice on the other end was quiet and neutral, and it took Iwaizumi a moment to place it, but it was a voice that he’d listened to a lot in a short span of time.

“Kunimi?” he asked in return, fingers stilling against Kyoutani’s head.

“Hey,” Kunimi replied. Iwaizumi couldn’t understand at all how the other man could make it sound like he was talking to Iwaizumi as if they’d known each other for years, and Kunimi was just calling him after going out for the night to watch a movie. It was a drastic contrast to Kindaichi’s earnest attitude and exhausting stream of apologies and deference.

“I’m coming back to Tokyo tomorrow,” Kunimi continued, then stopped, before saying, “just wanted to say that.”

“Okay… You finally called Kindaichi, then?”

“Yeah.” There was a long pause, during which Iwaizumi studied the slope and curve of Kyoutani’s round nose, a fond smile on his face from remembering how it felt to feel it aligned against his when they kissed, before Kunimi said quietly, “thank you for not charging him.”

Iwaizumi blinked, and let out a slow exhale. “Sure. He’s a good person. You’re both just dumb,” he pointed out, and felt Kyoutani’s shoulderblades twitch up under his arm.

“Make sure you come by the station tomorrow,” Iwaizumi continued. “You got our address?”

“Yeah.” Months of hearing that tone from the man in his bed had Iwaizumi knowing exactly the sort of bored annoyance at being spoken to like that, on Kunimi’s face in that moment. “Then… Bye.”

“Yeah. Travel safe,” Iwaizumi agreed, and hung up. The lingering weight that had still preoccupied him about Kunimi’s open case, finally started to ease.  
He slid the phone under his pillow, and shifted his bulk forward to kiss Kyoutani’s shoulder. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Kyoutani just made a quiet grunt, and moved his arm to settle his hand on Iwaizumi’s thigh. “Things’re settled?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi grazed his teeth over the jut of Kyoutani’s collarbone. “Should be tomorrow.”

“Mm.” Kyoutani opened his eyes, and shifted his hand to grip Iwaizumi at the back of his knee, and hike his thigh higher up Kyoutani’s side, to get Iwaizumi closer. “Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it, then.” He lowered his head to press their noses together and push Iwaizumi into a firm kiss, keeping the pace slow as their lips slid against each other’s.

Iwaizumi pushed himself up on his elbow, and then rolled Kyoutani onto his back, to press down onto Kyoutani with an amused chuckle reverberating between kissing him. Kyoutani was already moving his hand to drag his fingers up Iwaizumi’s stomach, and higher up, to palm over a nipple.

“I’ll show you, then,” Iwaizumi grinned against Kyoutani’s mouth.

“You better,” Kyoutani breathed back lowly, fixing Iwaizumi with a dark and expectant expression. Iwaizumi responded in kind, slipping his hand under Kyoutani’s ass to raise the man’s leg to wrap around his waist, as they ground against each other.

He did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to thank all the amazing iwakyou you guys are creating out there ✨ Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Dark bonus: Kunimi really was the next mark by the serial killer, but he unknowingly threw a huge wrench in their plan by making up his own disappearance -- and leading Watari and Iwaizumi right to this case, ohoho.


End file.
